The Girl Next Door
by theatergirl
Summary: Previously titled "The Consequence of Change." Everyone deals with the loss of a loved one in different ways; but what happens when Daley's father deals with his loss in a way that hurts his own daughter, and forces her into near perfection?
1. It Could Always be Worse

Disclaimer: I do not own Flight 29 Down or its characters.

"Girl. Dishes." That was all Daley needed to hear. Unlike any other teenager she did not argue, or even complain that since she cooked the dinner, he should clean up. She was not even close to being finished with her food, but she immediately stood up, and began to clear the table. Her father watched her closely as she scraped her half eaten food into the garbage, and started to stack the dishes on the counter beside the sink. She stopped up the drain, turned on the water, and added dish soap. She could feel his intimidating blue eyes on her, but she didn't dare look at him. As Daley started to wash the first dish, her father lost interest and left the kitchen heading for the living room. She let out a small sigh of relief, and noticing the dish rack was getting full; she started to dry the dishes right after rinsing them. She picked up a glass, and turned it over and over in her hands to make sure EVERY drop of water was off of it. Suddenly, her wet hands lost control, and she bobbled the glass for a few seconds before it fell to the floor.

Smash! The glass broke with a high-pitched sound, and sharp broken pieces flew in all directions. Daley jumped back quickly picking up one foot, and then the other; but she was too late and brought her foot down on a large piece of broken glass. It cut into her foot deeply, and blood started to pool around it. Despite the pain of having her foot torn open, it was the last thing on Daley's mind. She held her breath and listened in horror. She could hear fake laughter coming from the TV, and a game show host announcing that someone had just hit the jackpot of one million dollars. "I'm safe." She thought. "He didn't hear." But he did hear. Only a second after Daley had thought this she heard footsteps thundering towards the kitchen. She stood in horror unable to move from utter fear, and being surrounded by broken glass did not help either.

Mr. Marin entered the kitchen with a look of pure rage painted across his face. "DALEY! CLEAN THIS UP RIGHT NOW YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF JUNK! " He started towards her crushing the glass into even smaller pieces. "YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS YOU LITTLE-." He never even finished his sentence as he grabbed Daley by the shoulders, and pushed her down onto the floor. She let out a soft cry as jagged glass cut its way into her hands and knees, and she was now bleeding heavily from her foot, and out of both hands and both knees. Her father kicked her in the hip as hard as he could and left the room trailing glass across the kitchen floor.

Daley lay on the floor clutching her hip with her bloody hand smearing thick, red liquid onto her jeans. She stood up slowly, and limped over to the paper towel holder. She pressed firmly on each cut to try and slow the bleeding. She was successful, and was just about to limp to the bathroom when she remembered the glass. She turned around and stared at the floor. It was a sort of blood and glass soup; and it was scattered everywhere. She worked quickly to clear it all up, and was finished in no time. She quietly limped to the bathroom to properly care for all of her cuts. The one on her foot was the worst, and took a lot of time to treat. "It could be worse." She told herself when her eyes started to water from pain, "It could always be worse."

A/N- Please review! I really want to know what you all think about this. Even if it's the worst thing you have ever read tell me. I live off reviews, and really appreciate them, so please help me out. Any advice or criticism is welcome. I have not been getting reviews on my other story which makes me not want to continue it... so let me know if you want this to continue, or just let me know anything. Thanks!


	2. The Perfect Little Masterpiece

Disclaimer: I do not own Flight 29 Down or it's characters.

Robert Marin was an intelligent man. Even when he was drunk he was careful not to hit his daughter anywhere above the shoulders, and not below her thighs. His intelligence created a masterpiece painting of bruises all over her torso. The color scheme was brilliant. Older wounds created a greenish yellow color, while fresher wounds displayed varying hues of purple and even black. Now however, she had cuts; and people could see them. He didn't want to caught, not before he could get well.

The loss of Marianne, the only woman he had ever loved, had set him back to when the only thing that could make him happy was alcohol. Sure he loved Daley, but she looked too much like her beautiful mother. He couldn't call Daley by her name anymore; Marianne had picked it out. Mr. Marin couldn't even handle to see Daley smile. She had the same smile that first attracted him to her mother, so he beat her to ensure she never smiled in his presence again, and also to kill his own pain. But what was he going to do about those cuts? He conjured up a plan, and kept it on his mind until Daley appeared out of her room the next morning.

"Girl. Come here." Daley steered herself away from the bathroom, and stood before her father. She wore plaid pajama shorts, and a green tank top. Mr. Marin studied her knees, and noticed his hand marks on her shoulders. "Toady," he started, "you will wear pants, and a shirt that covers your shoulders. If anyone asks about your hands tell them you unknowingly broke a glass in the dishwater last night, and reached into the sink, and cut your hands up. It was an accident. You hear me girl?"

"Yes Sir." Daley dropped her eyes to the floor... another mistake.

"YOU WILL LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU!" He grabbed her by the chin, and forced her face up so she was staring right into his eyes. "You will respect me."

"Yes. I'm sorry Father." Daley reminded herself of some poor little rich kid in a movie, with her robot conversations. He pushed her away forcibly, causing her head to snap backwards; and left the room. Daley vowed to make no more "mistakes" today. She needed to be careful; she needed to be perfect.

She returned to her room, and went through her closet to find an outfit that fit the guidelines her father had given her. She picked out a pair of jeans, and a red short sleeve top; and dressed as quickly as possible. She cracked the door to her room open, and glanced around. As far as she could see her father was nowhere in sight. She slipped out and headed for the bathroom once again. Looking out of the bathroom window she could see that her father's car was gone. She breathed loudly; he had already left for work.

Daley went to the sink, and carefully turned on the water so that the stream ran straight down into the drain. She realized what she was doing and immediately turned on the water full blast, so that it sloshed out onto the sink. She looked in the mirror, and narrowed her eyes at her own reflection in disgust of the person she was seeing. She knew her father's punishments were forcing her to be perfect in everything she did; even pointless things like turning on water. She was becoming a perfectionist before her own eyes making her feel like a hypocrite. She used to mock perfectionists, and lived her own life as it came without worrying about how things looked, or came out.

That was all in the past now. She had changed, just like everything else in her life since her mom died. She picked up her toothbrush, did the deed, grabbed her books, and started her walk to school.

A/N- Please review!


	3. Right vs Wrong

Disclaimer: I do not own Flight 29 Down, or it's characters.

Daley sat in her English class waiting for her teacher, Mrs. Grant, to begin. The door opened, and Taylor Hagan leisurely strolled in, even though the bell had rung several minutes ago.

"Miss Hagan," their teacher closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I would appreciate it if you could arrive to my class on time. I believe I discussed this with you yesterday; so what's the excuse?"

"I had to apply more lip gloss. I needed a mirror. I was in the bathroom looking in the mirror." Taylor spoke in monotonic, short sentences; this was all routine for her.

"Don't let it happen again, or it will be a detention."

Taylor started walking to her seat, and noticed Daley watching her. She widened her eyes, and pushed her head forward as if to say, "what are you looking at Marin?" Daley rolled her eyes after Taylor looked away. Taylor Hagan had to be the person Daley couldn't stand the most in the entire school. All she did was put on make up, and complain about how she was almost out of foundation, and she needed a new eye shadow. Taylor didn't know what real problems were, not like Daley did. Daley was a little thankful for that. "No one, not even Taylor, should know the problems that I do." She fingered the cuts on her hand remembering the sting of the glass as it had entered her flesh.

"Later this week class, we will be starting a research project on the middle ages. Every group will have a different topic-" Mrs. Grant cut herself short when she saw that everyone in the class immediately started looking to their friends silently agreeing to be partners. Daley looked to her friend Caroline McCreedy, nodding her head with a smile, Taylor looked to Jason Swick, the star football player at Hartwell High. "-to research. I will assign your partners tomorrow." The faces on every student in that classroom fell. Assigned partners... the fear of every high school student.

Mrs. Grant continued class by passing out the tests they had taken the previous day on Act 3 of Macbeth. Daley's face dropped when her paper was laid on her desk. A 25 out of 26. She had missed one... she did not get an A+. "How could I have- STOP IT!!" Daley scolded herself. It was an A; she had gotten a good grade. Was it perfect? No. Somehow that concept killed her, and lifted her up at the same time. She wasn't perfect!! But, on the other hand, she wasn't perfect.

The rest of her day was boring and uneventful, that is, until the last period of the day; Art I. Daley's art teacher, Mrs. Brunner, was almost a contradiction to herself. She had one of those voices that always sounded like she was about to cry, but she was a harsh woman who went out of her way to embarrass you. If you asked her a question she answered you so that everyone could hear, and talked to you as if you were stupid. She was a sneaky woman, and was even an expert of making you feel uneasy even when no one else in the class could hear. Daley could hardly stand the woman, but somehow she was one of the favorites of Mrs. Brunner. That did not however, exempt her from the embarrassment she dealt out everyday.

Today was no exception. Daley asked a simple question only to get an over exaggerated answer, and twenty-two pairs of judgmental eyes burn into her. She politely thanked her teacher, and continued her work without another word. At five minutes until the final bell, everyone began cleaning off tables, and putting art supplies away. Daley finished, and sat on the edge of her seat waiting for the bell; and when it finally rang, she jumped out of her seat, and was the first person to exit the room.

As usual, Daley practically ran down the hallway trying to get to her locker as quickly as possible. Her father got off of work about the same time she got out of school, and if she was not home before him doing the chores it would be a lashing. Even when her father got off of work early and was home hours before Daley was even released from school, she would still be beaten. Daley squeezed past a couple of annoying freshman lovers when had stopped in the middle of the hallway to hug, and rounded the corner into the next hallway. She took it close to the wall, and ran smack into Taylor; whose purse, and books fell to the ground. The contents of the purse scattered in different directions. Mascara, and lip gloss tubes rolled, while a bottle of foundation bounced, until it got kicked down the hallway by a couple of senior boys. Taylor's cell phone had slipped from her hands in a desperate attempt to catch things, and it fell onto the floor and snapped open leaving a few scratches on the side.

Taylor mouth dropped open as she watched her most valued possessions hit the ground. She looked up to see who had bumped into her, and saw the one girl she couldn't stand the most: Daley Marin.

"Daley! Why don't you watch where you are going? Gosh, look what you did, freaking-" she cut herself short to drop down and try to reclaim all of her things. She let out several breathy screeches as her possessions were becoming lost, and kicked around under the feet of the masses of students. Daley had a choice to make... she could just say sorry, and get home before her dad, or she could help Taylor. She knew if she did her father would get home before her, and that there would be a punishment. Without another thought, she got down beside Taylor, and frantically grabbed as many things as she could. Her mother had always taught her to do the right thing, even if it was an inconvenience to yourself... she didn't know if this particular "inconvenience" was worth it, and even though she hated the girl, she knew she had to do the right thing and help her out. They were able to recover her books, (of course; the least important of all), a small tube of lip-gloss, and her cell phone. Taylor gasped at her scratched cell phone, and snatched her books out of Daley's hands. She stared at the red head for a moment with a look of disgust until Daley said, "I'm sorry Taylor." Taylor huffed, and walked around Daley and down the hallway without a single word.

Daley was late already, and she had not even left school. Helping Taylor seemed like a waste, seeing as she did not even appreciate the help, or accept an apology. What did Daley have to show for doing the right thing? A beating. She continued to her locker, feeling terrible for making, what seemed to be, the wrong decison. Another imperfection on her part. She did not push the thought away this time, because she knew that we she got home; she would have to pay for her mistake.


	4. Notice

Before I go on, I need to clear something up.

I think that some people are confused about what happened when Daley was in the bathroom in chapter 2. When I said "She picked up her toothbrush, did the deed..." I did not mean that she was using a toothbrush to make herself vomit. "The deed" that she did is exactly what you are supposed to do with a toothbrush: brush your teeth. Just wanted to clear the confusion up; Daley is not bulimic, just brushing her teeth.

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed!


	5. The Hallway

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Flight 29 Down, or its characters.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to my awesome betas!!

Daley ran as fast as she could into her front yard and up into the driveway; maybe, with some luck, her father was running late. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his car sitting in the driveway. She curled her lips in and looked up at the sky thinking, _Why, God? Why does he have to be here? I did the right thing… can't I catch a break? _She laid her hand down on the hood of the car and felt a dull heat radiate into her body. He didn't get off early… she could have made it… if only… She bent over, putting her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath, but also to salvage a few more moments away from her father; there was no hurry anymore; there was nothing she could do to get out of this one. Punishment was inevitable. _Way to go, Daley. Stupid._

She took a deep breath and closed her fingers around the doorknob. Her slightly shaking hands made it jiggle back and forth, generating a tinny clinking sound. She turned it, opened the door slowly, and closed it as quietly as possible. She stood, still waiting for her father to appear it was usually out of nowhere and let her have it. She gripped the strap of her bag until her knuckles had turned white. Sometimes waiting to be beaten, not knowing when you were going to feel that first blow, was even worse than actually being hit. Her stomach tightened and wailed in pain; the anticipation was too much.

The longest moment of Daley's life had passed, and her father had never come. She cautiously made her way to her bedroom to put her things away, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Her ears pricked up like a cat's at the sounds of her own feet on the floor, and she walked down the hallway as if she were wandering in a dangerous city at night. She was starting to sweat, her hairline clumping from the wetness, and she realized that all of the times she had been hurt by her father, and all the times she had to sit and wait for it, this had to be the scariest time. She was half-afraid to open her bedroom door, just knowing he would be waiting behind it with that frightening smile.

Halfway there, halfway to her room.

Her bag suddenly felt extremely heavy, and at the same time, the hallway seemed to be getting longer and longer the farther she went. Her bag bumped the wall beside her and caused her to whip around in panic, only to see emptiness. She walked with her chin pressed into her shoulder, watching the empty hallway for signs of her father. She walked that way until she ran straight into something; she turned, expecting to find her father, only to see the door to her room. _I made it. I did it; I'm here! _Her joy was quickly altered when she remembered who might be behind that door.

She turned the doorknob and opened the door slowly, so it would not bang into her father if he were waiting right behind it. She pushed it open and walked consciously into her room. She tensed her muscles, waiting for a smack, for him to grab her or throw her down. Her body was as stiff as a board, but no harm came to it. He father was not even in her room, and this not only brought Daley a great relief, but more terror. If he wasn't in her room, then he was somewhere else, waiting, hiding. She shut the door, set her bags on her bed, and took off her shoes. The cut on her foot had been rubbed raw, and it hurt to have anything touching it.

_I have to get to work. _She walked back over to her door, ready to spend the entire evening cleaning her house. She quickly opened it, and walked into the hallway, not paying attention to what she was doing. For the second time, she ran straight into something, and this time it _was_ her father.


	6. Front Row Seats

**Disclaimer: I do not own Flight 29 Down, or it's characters.**

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" A pair of rough hands clamped down on Daley's shoulders and backed her up against the wall. His thumbs pressed into her, right above her clavicle, and her shoulders collapsed a little from the pain. His blue eyes stared straight into hers, threatening her very existence if she said something to displease him. "You are exactly thirteen minutes late; where were you girl?"

"I ran into someone at school, and was helping her pick up her things; she dropped them in the hallway." Daley spoke with confidence not allowing the fear that squeezed at her stomach show in her voice. No matter what happened she couldn't sound scared, and she could never cry. No daughter of Robert Marin was going to be weak. He simply wouldn't allow it. She had to be strong, and deal with things like a soldier might, not make mistakes, and absolutely no crying. When her mother died all she did was cry, and he couldn't stand it. She cried at the hospital, she cried in his arms, she cried in her room, she cried at the funeral, she was always freaking crying! Didn't she know his entire world had just been ripped apart too? He couldn't stand it when she cried; there was nothing he could do about it. Marianne was gone.

"You ran into someone and made them drop their stuff? Now, that wasn't nice of you." He gave her a sarcastic smile, and tightened his grip on her. Her entire torso shook from the pain, but she mustered up the strength to not cry out; and even though it was risky, she saw a window that might help her. She was going to lie to him.

"No, I didn't make her drop everything, I just helped her pick it up. When I said 'ran into' I meant I saw her, like if I ran into someone at the grocery store..."

Her father eyed her with suspicion, and slightly lessened his grip on her. She stared into his face blankly, and he did the same. He seemed to be in a trance like state, his eyes not focusing on any particular thing. Daley kept her eyes on his face the whole time; if his attitude changed she wanted to be ready for it. His gaze finally focused into hers, and his face twisted into anger.

The first blow to her stomach hurt the worst; and she tried to distance herself from the situation. She was successful, and felt if she were on the ceiling looking down at a play on her life. The girl in the role of Daley was being kneed in the stomach with her head being banded into the wall with each strike. She was screaming, pleading, squirming, but somehow, not crying. The man playing her father let go; the actress doubled over in pain, and the audience could see a small blood spot in the wall were her head had been hit so many times. The man grabbed her by the elbows, and jerked her close to his face. He mumbled something into her face, inaudible to the audience, and swung her so that she collided with the corner of a small table in the hallway that held a telephone, and a lamp, which fell off of the table and crushed Daley's fingers between it and the floor. Her spine pulsed with pain as she pulled her back away from the sharp edge of the table causing her to emit breathy whimpers.

"Are you crying girl?"

"No." The actress looked up into the man's face to prove that despite the pain, she had indeed not shed a single tear.

"Good. Now get to work." He spoke with mockery, and smiled as he left her to suffer in the hallway.

Daley watched as the girl tried to stand up, only to fall back down again. She held her stomach, and dragged herself into the bathroom. Strangely, Daley, still watching the show, tasted vomit in her mouth, and could hear it falling into the water of the toilet. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was not on the ceiling, but sitting in front of the toilet with a horrible headache. She brought her hand to the back of her pounding head, feeling a small pool of blood under her fingertips. Her back screamed out at her and she gasped in agony and rested her head on the toilet seat.

Daley lay on the bathroom floor waiting for some of the pain to pass. She still couldn't stand up and prayed she would be able to soon. _Time to try again._ She pushed herself up onto her elbows and slowly, gripping the bathtub for support, hoisted herself up. She took slow wobbly steps out into the hallway, only to turn back around when she saw her blood stain on the wall. She wet a washcloth and scrubbed the spot until absolutely no trace was left of it.

She grabbed the doorframe with one hand, and rested her head on it as a wave of dizziness suddenly hit her. She began to pant, her breathing quickening with each passing second.

_NO. No, Daley. Stop this right now. Stop acting as if you are about to die. The pain won't last forever and the dizziness will pass. Get going! You have so much to do. This is all your fault anyway; perhaps you deserved this after all. _She straightened herself up, and started for the kitchen trying not to wobble so much as she walked. _Hurry up Daley; you've wasted so much time. Besides, Dad will want dinner soon. _

A/N- Sorry this took so long to post I have had major writers block (or lack of motivation) on both of my chapter stories, plus some family crisis. Had anyone else been having trouble with fan fiction? For some reason I have not been receiving emails alerting me about stories and such, and I don't get emails for pms either. Has anyone else not been getting things from this site recently? If so, we need to write to them and get it fixed! So if you have pmed me recently, and I have not responded that's why. Sorry! Please review!


	7. A Day in the Life of Daley Marin

**Disclaimer: I do not own Flight 29 Down, or its characters.**

For what seemed to be the hundredth time that evening Daley felt a sudden sharp pain in the middle of her back that coursed it's way over her entire spine. Sinking herself down beside her bed she stuffed a piece of blanket into her mouth, and buried her head into the side of her mattress. Clenching the blanket between her teeth she emitted small muffled moans; her back on the other hand, screamed out for mercy.

_Oh God, please make it stop._

She wanted so badly to just let loose: scream and cry as loud as she possibly could. Instead, she thought back to the day her father allowed the hospital to take her mother off of life support; and how she screamed for them not to do it. Her uncle had to carry her, fighting the whole way, into the hallway where, through a window, watched her mother die, tears streaming down her face. Somehow, just the memories of crying were almost as healing as the real thing, and would have to suffice anyway.

As the torture subsided, she unclenched her jaw and began panting small breaths that bounced off of the mattress and danced back over her face. Cautiously, she stood herself up being careful not to bend or twist her back in any way that may trigger it again. She grabbed a pair of pajamas from her dresser and slowly shuffled herself to the bathroom. The small 'pop' of a beer can being opened reached her ears causing her to quietly sigh.

_He's drinking again._

She bravely crept to the living room to observe the many empty beer cans scattered across the floor, and her father clumsily bringing the can to his lips. With much effort, he picked up the remote and flicked through the channels until he found the evening news.

_Great. He's drunk._

Alcohol always did strange things to him; and when he was intoxicated anything was possible. Sometimes he became distant, depressed, and secluded himself in his room with nothing but a picture of Marianne. Other times he would fall into terrible rages that lasted for hours: smashing things around and beating Daley almost senseless. This state was the most frightening; he had absolutely no control over himself; one drink too many and he could easily kill Daley without even meaning to.

* * *

"Hey." Daley jumped and pulled free of the hands that had clamped down onto her shoulders.

_Dad._

She whipped herself around to face him, only to remember that she was at school and was staring into the face of Nathan McHugh.

"Woah. Calm down, I don't bite."

"Uh, hi. Sorry... so did you need something?"

"Can't a guy just come say hello?"

"Oh please. Nathan, I've known you forever; the only time you speak to me is by default." They giggled. Daley's best friend Caroline wasn't amused. She raised one eyebrow and spoke with an accusing curiosity.

"So what _do_ you want?"

"Well, I'm just here to inform you fine young ladies," they rolled their eyes at his attempt to be professional, "that I'm going to be running for class president in a few weeks. Can I count on your votes?"

"Well," Caroline began, "Daley here was thinking of running also." Daley shot her a quizzical look.

"I am?"

"You are?" Nathan and Daley spoke in unison with the same tone of confusion in their voices.

"Yeah, she is. So no, I don't think you can count on us to vote for you." She smiled sarcastically and Daley dropped her gaze to the floor.

_Do you have to be so mean?_

She looked apologetically to Nathan who took absolutely no notice.

"Alright. Good luck to you then Daley." He gave her a small nod and received a tiny sympathetic smile in return. They both knew Caroline could be a bit of a jerk, but it was something you had to overlook.

_Pick your battles Daley._

"He's so annoying isn't he?"

"Yeah, I know."

_Liar._

She tried to sound convincing, and brushed off the fact that Caroline had lied about her running for class president. There was no way she could be the leader of her class, she knew she was way too shy. The bell rang causing a hurricane of students running in every direction.

* * *

Taylor Hagan eyed Daley as she timidly walked into the classroom with her books clutched tightly to her chest.

_What is her problem? She always looks as if someone is going to jump out at her._ Taylor rolled her eyes_. She looks so self-conscious when she walks all shrunken in like that. _

Ariel Mathews nudged Taylor's foot and gave a small nod in Daley's direction. Taylor winked, and gave her a sinister smile, obviously taking the hint. At the perfect moment as Daley passed the girls, Taylor shot her foot out, which Daley stumbled over dropping everything she was carrying. Ariel and Taylor giggled and exchanged a small high-five as they watched Daley stop

down to pick up her books. Once she had everything situated she continued on to her desk without even looking back at them.

"We're almost out of time today; so I'm going to assign your groups, and you will start your projects tomorrow." The entire class focused on their teacher as she began pairing people together. Daley could feel the tension in the room, and it could be clearly seen on everyone's faces.

"Daley Marin with... Mrs. Grant scanned down her list searching for the name of Daley's partner.

_With who? WHO?_ Daley's entire body tensed up so tightly that her stomach threatened to explode at any given second._ Oh no. No, no no. Please, I'll take anyone... ANYONE! Anyone except-_

"Taylor Hagan."

_Someone please murder me._

Taylor's mouth lost all control and hung open angrily as their teacher continued down the list. She turned around and shot Daley a look that told her exactly how she felt about the situation.

_Yeah, Taylor don't even worry. I feel the exact same way._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if this was a little boring, but there is a lot of information in this chapter that leads up to more exciting events in the story. Let me know what you think!**


	8. Kitchen Chairs

A/N- This story is going to be about more than just abuse. Just bear through all the abuse chapters. They add up to the rest of the story. Thanks to Jouclelin Hades for supporting me with her great comments, and thanks to everyone else as well! I think I should dedicate this chapter to Joucelin Hades because she has been waiting patiently for this for a long time. Sorry, Jouce if this chapter sucks after I dedicated it to you. : D On with the story! And of course I love reviews.

In art class, Daley was able to take out her frustration through a block or rubber, and a small carving knife. Small bits of rubber collected on various places on her desk as she furiously carved away, not even sure of what she was trying to make. Back and forth, back and forth: the knife moved swiftly making terribly uneven cuts of various sizes on random parts of the block. Over and over, muttering to herself. Mutter, mutter, cut, cut, cut. Mutter, mutter, cut, cut, gasp! A sharp pain snaked its way over Daley's fingers, and blood started to leak onto the table. In her fury of carving she had managed to bring the blade deeply over all four fingers.

"Mrs. Brunner?" she displayed her hand to her teacher, who whisked her over to one of the sinks.

"How did you manage to cut all four fingers? It's important that you pay attention to what you are doing! You can't just-" The blood had been washed away revealing Daley's hands in all their glory. She turned them over in her own in awe and confusion.

"Daley. How many times did you cut yourself?"

_Oh, no. _"Just across my fingers."

"But your hands are covered in-"

"Oh, yeah those. I was doing the dishes the other day and cut my hands on a broken glass. It was in the water so I didn't see it and-"

"I see, and this burn on your arm? How did that happen?

_My father held it to a burner. "_I… I reached across the stove to turn it on, and there was a burner that was still hot. I didn't know, and I laid my arm down onto it." _Not too bad, seeing as you pulled that one out of your butt. God, I just want to tell the truth._

"Uh, huh," Mrs. Brunner eyed her suspiciously. "You should be more careful then." She bandaged Daley's fingers just in time for the dismissal bell.

"Oh, I will." _I always have to be careful. _Daley gave her a quick smile, then left in her usual hurry.

Daley returned home to find her father fumbling around in the kitchen trying to put dishes away, despite his drunken state. A bowl slipped from his hands and split cleanly in two. "Damn," he said. "Marianne is going to kill me."

_This is not going to be a good day._ "Do you need some help Dad? I could even take over for you." He turned to face her.

"Sit down girl." Turning one of the table chairs to face her father, she lowered herself down gripping the sides until her knuckles had turned ghost white. "Where were you all day? Out with some boy? Huh? Letting some boy kiss you? Screw you?" He ran his hands over her shoulders and circled the chair like a hawk.

"No. I was at school, and I came right home. See," she turned her head toward the clock. "I'm even on time." He stopped in front of her, their faces an inch apart. His breath was thick on her face; the alcohol in it gave her a dull headache.

"Fourteen years old, and already the little slut I knew you'd be." He plunged his hands into the tops of her thighs. "If all you wanted was love, you should have stayed right here." He brought his lips to hers, but she moved her head away before he could kiss them. He laughed. His voice came out low, seductive. "You are so worthless." He whispered into her ear. Daley kept her gaze forward, never faltering. "Worthless little slut. You are nothing. You know that? You are nothing to no one. Nobody loves you; why, if you died no one would even care." He slipped his hands firmly around her neck. "I could snap your pretty little neck right now, and no one would even notice that you are gone." He pressed his thumbs in, making her cough and gag for air. Involuntary tears arose from the choking, and this time she couldn't even breathe them back.

_I never cry, I never cry, I can't breathe, and I never cry. _She chanted in her head until her father finally let go. Sweet, sweet oxygen consumed her throat, too much at once, and she exploded into a fit of coughing. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on her knees where a few pent up tears finally fell. _I'm not crying, no. They're just from not being able to breath; they hold no emotion. I. Am. Not. Crying._

When inhaling oxygen became a natural thing again, she sat herself back up to face her father, who had dumped the silverware, and several items from the refrigerator onto the floor. He motioned towards the mess, and yanked her out of the chair.

"Now clean this up."

"So I'm not too worthless to do that then?" Daley muttered as he started off to another room. He turned back around.

"Did you say something girl?"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No sir."


End file.
